Today We Fight
by LikeIdTellU
Summary: 'Today we fight, not because we wish to, or even because we want to. We fight for our friends, our familys. We fight because if we do not, we will die'. An event in the past goes wrong, drastically changing the events of the future. Mutants are hunted down and shot like animals, if they are lucky. But even amongst chaos heroes will rise, even if they are all destined to fail.
1. Chapter 1

Completely utterly AU.  
I have completely killed the plot of X men (well...maybe not that completely) in order to satisfy a ridiculous turn of imagination. Some characters have changed personalities, others don't have the same position in life that they had in the movies, etc.

Now the whole idea of this story is that it's in an alternate universe (more or less) were Charles Xavia died before he could create the X men. The world has gone to chaos and the humans are less tolerant of the mutants then Hitler was of the Jews (this may or may not be an over exaggeration)

Warning: SLASH in later chapters.  
Main Pairing: Logan/Warren

Chapter one

It was dark, cold and very wet. Logan relished it, relished the way his motorbike rode so smoothly under him, loved the way it responded to his every touch as he zoomed into the night. Behind him the sky was tinged red with flames, smoke-darker then the night-billowed heavenwards, blotting out the stars.

Score bloody one for the mutants, Logan thought in grim satisfaction as his rear view mirror gave him a nice view of the lab he had just torched. Score bloody one.

Something flew at him from the darkness, and he swerved to avoid it. Bats, he thought in disgust, oh how he hated them. But then the dark shape curved to chase after him and Logan swore as he was confronted with the fact that the thing chasing him might not be a bat at all. He sped up. So did the thing.

"Fuck", he spat as he caught a glimpse of his unwanted shadow, a long elongated metallic snake-like thing with wings. "Bloody government tracker fly, how the hell did you find me?" he growled.

The thing screeched in reply and darted closer, daring to take a bite out of the metal exhaust pipe.

"Shit", Logan swore again before swerving off the road, he had to lose the metallic beastie before he returned to Mutant stronghold. He couldn't endanger those refugees.

He quickly lost control of the bike and it listed to the side, smashing into a tree and sending fragments of bark spinning into the air. The bike was halted for a moment, allowing Logan to catch his breath before the next stage of his hastily constructed-and somewhat Ill advised-plan.

He heard the muted hiss that heralded the return of that singular annoying tracker beastie, and then the deep groan of ancient wood giving way. Logan decided to help it along, and shoved with all his inhuman, mutant strength.

The bike spun free and tumbled down the hill side before toppling into the ravine below. Logan lay crumpled at the base of the tree, unmoving as the tracker came closer, almost brushing against his cheek. It took all of Logan's willpower-and a great deal more-not to crush the bug, it would endanger too many people.

At last the blasted damn thing left and Logan let out the breath he had been holding before he got up, shrugged his shoulders and began the long walk back to the Mutant refuge.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

Later when he chose to think about it, which he often didn't, Warren would ponder the irony of his situation. He had once been well off with respectable, wealthy parents and a very large house. They had abandoned him when he was twelve, or more specifically they had tried to ship him off to the labs and he had run away. Once he had been wealthy, now he has to dig through garbage bins in order to scrounge enough food for himself and three others, and on a bad day, which happened too often for Warren's liking, he would go hungry so that the three dependents in his care could eat.

Occasionally someone would approach him, thinking him a whore, and Warren would have to fight them off when they became too persistent. He had become very adept at fighting dirty.

Warren scurried out of the alleys shadows, mourning the cover as soon as he had left it behind. Faceless people bustled past him, never looking, always busy and Warren hated them. Hated their freedom of movement, hated the poisonous discrimination that curdled their minds against mutants. It was disgusting really how these people could preach about 'freedom' and 'liberty for all races' then turn their backs when a mutant was beaten on the street. Or worse yet they joined in.

He had once asked Scott why humans hated them so much, years ago when Warren had escaped from the labs. The elder mutant had sighed and placed the younger Warren on his lap before explaining how years ago the mutants had tried negotiating with the humans, only to be betrayed and their leaders slaughtered on Alcatraz islands. They had developed a depressant, Scott had said, that they shot at the mutants that opposed them. The Cure, they called it, although what it cured Scott was at a loss to say because only one in twenty mutants who had been 'cured' survived.

Warren rolled his shoulders under the heavy but tattered trench coat to try and relieve the ache in his wings. He hated wearing the damn harness and often fantasised burning the bloody thing. But Scott, Grandpa (he was not actually Warren's grandpa, that's what the old man wanted to be called) and Dan depended on him and so the bloody contraption stayed on his back.

He melded in with the crowd, an innocent expression affixed on his face although his wandering hands said otherwise. Valuable possessions swapped hands, money was 'lost' and vaguely metallic objects were misplaces as Warren explored the pockets of any business men and women he happened to bump into and brush up against.

Yes Warren was a pick pocket, although he preferred the term 'Borrower of Valuable objects with no intent of returning them'.

It was unavoidable that he was caught, it was just his luck that a particular sharp eyed individual caught him at it sooner rather then later. Warren wasted no time in running away from the crowd, not even bothering to look behind him because he was already running as fast as he could and nothing else could possibly make him go any faster. This was the reason why the police hadn't caught him yet, that and the set of rules Dan- the person who had taught Warren how to pick pocket- had advised.

"Whatever you do kid, don't look back, don't stop for anything and if they corner you don't hesitate to fight. Your fast kid, and strong, but if they overpower you get out of there quick. Fly if you have to, you won't do any damage because there is nothing that can make the humans hate us more then they already do".

So far Warren's knowledge of the streets had kept him safe before, and as the sounds of pursuit died in the distance, it seemed like this time would be no different.

He was at the outskirts of the forest, which was surprising since Warren hadn't realised how far he had run. Which meant that he had to leave now if he was to buy food before the shops closed. That or it was garbage again.

But a hand descended on his shoulder holding him in a vice like grip. Breath like sour, curdled milk tickled his ear.

"What have we hear boys?" the person behind him chuckled, his laughter echoed by whom Warren assumed were three others, "A boy all alone, probably escaped from his nanny".

"What are we going to do with him?" a raspy voice to Warren's left asked.

"Why don't we have some fun?" came another voice from the right.

"Yeah, and teach him why little boys shouldn't leave their house at night", said another man in front of Warren.

I. Don't. Bloody. Think. So.

Warren slammed his head backwards, feeling the very satisfying crunch as his head connected with the man behind. Warren suddenly gripped the thugs forearms and used him as a support so he could kick both his legs out in front of him, shoving the thug in front and sending him flying. The thug behind him collapsed and the other two rushed at him, only for one to be taken down by a blur of black and flashing blades.

The remaining thug stared at his fallen comrades before turning tail and bolting.

Warren turned around in time to see a man, maybe five years older then himself and covered in hair, retract blades that sprouted from his knuckles.

"Your a mutant!" Warren blurted in surprise, which in hindsight wasn't a great idea.

"Yeah so? You gotta problem with that kid?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course not", Warren said with a roll of his eyes, "I'm also a mutant, I was just surprised is all".

The man frowned, still suspicious. "Oh yeah kid, prove it", he snapped.

"Why do I have to prove myself to you?" Warren snapped back, a bit miffed at being mistaken for a kid.

"So I know you aren't lying".

"Why would I lie?"

"So I won't kill you", came the snarky response.

Warren scowled and yanked off his trench coat before turning around and pulling up the back of his T-shirt, revealing his wings.

"There, happy now?" he asked as he pulled his coat back on.

"Quite", said the other man, obviously unrepentant.

Warren stopped short, taking in the mans unkept appearance and bloodied clothing. "Do you have anywhere to stay?" he asked somewhat grudgingly, but Scott had taught him that mutants looked after mutants since no one else cared enough to.

"Is it that obvious?" came the dry rejoinder.

"To me and to the most unobservant human".

"I wouldn't want to cause you any trouble with your parents".

"I have no parents, they tried to hand me into the labs and I'm sure Grandpa and Scott wouldn't mind".

"Bastards", the man said sympathetically, "Your better off without them, kid, take it from me. My name is Logan".

"Warren", said Warren, "And I'm not a kid, I'm twenty years old".

"You sure don't look it Wings".

"What is it with you and nicknames".

One of the thugs groaned.

"I think we should leave", said Warren.

TBC


End file.
